Round Two
by Rhys Quinn
Summary: Once again, Harry and Ginny fell in love. Once again, they broke up. Was the parting any sweeter this time around?


Title: Round Two, California

Author: Rhys Quinn

Summary: Once again, Harry and Ginny fell in love. Once again, they broke up. Was the parting any sweeter this time around?

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter in any way, shape, or form.

* * *

Whoever wrote the scripts for those silly romance movies has clearly never been in a relationship before. If they had, they would have realized that the setting of a break up never quite suited the breakup itself. Usually, it was a mile off, in the middle of the ocean, floating stupidly on its belly. 

For one thing, it's almost always sunny when you get the bad news. Like now, for instance. It's a comfortable autumn temperature, just right for cute sweaters that hang off your shoulder while not looking too big. There's no freezing rain and lightning bursts, and the wind is way too fresh and clean to moan.

Another thing, everyone knows you've been dumped before you usually do. My friends have been dropping hints for the last two weeks that I should move on. Did I see that cute guy in the coffee shop? How about the ass on that actor? Surfer boy at the concession stand was staring! My personal favorite: Just dump the loser all ready and go after that chiropractor, dammit! Even Harry's friends have been suggesting that it was over. Merlin's beard, Dean gave me his number! He barely knows how to use a phone!

Of course, the same could be said of me, but Hermione says I'm getting better . . . .

At least Harry was attempting to be romantic about it. He brought me to the boardwalk, my favorite place since we dropped in on California. I wasn't too crazy about the change at first, being so pale and susceptible to sunburns from hell, but it grew on me. We've been here about two years, about as long as we've been dating.

He bought me cotton candy, hot dogs, a disgustingly greasy tray of curly fries, even a giant cherry/cola/raspberry/grape/lemonade slushie. Granted, Harry ended up eating most of it – sometimes I think he confuses me with Ron. But it's the thought that counts, right?

Ha.

I guess I knew it was coming. We hadn't spoken in the last two weeks, not since I kicked Harry out of the apartment. He went out drinking again, see? I don't like him when he's drunk, and I knew he was drunk when he called me for a ride. So I packed up his things, got him a hotel room, and dropped his crap there while I went to get him. He was confused when he finally stopped giggling long enough to see that we weren't at the apartment.

And that's pretty much what ended it.

Not to say we hadn't had other problems. His drinking was a minor thing, more of a nuisance than a danger. Boredom was a bigger foe. So was jealousy. Both parties were guilty of all charges.

So, back to the boardwalk, right? We rode the rickety Dreamers' Ferris Wheel that everyone loves and secretly fears because it's just so old. We went right up to the very top and paused, like most of them do. Harry opened his mouth and let it gape like a fish. It was kind of creepy, especially when you coupled it with the nervous eyes, twitchy hands, and slightly sweaty face. I chalked it up to nerves. You couldn't go on this ride without despairing for your life.

I sealed his lips with a kiss, dragged him off when we finally reached the bottom, and took him down to the beach. It was empty because of the season. Only natives came out now, with the water so choppy and cold.

Halfway between the pier and a really large rock, he did it.

"Ginny, I want you to know that I love you . . . like a sister. You're like my baby sister!"

Oh shit.

"And you've been one of my best friends for a long time now."

Don't say it.

"And, with all this fighting–"

I can't believe you!

"It wouldn't feel right dragging you into danger. I think we're over."

You think?!

But of course, I said nothing during his painful little speech. There was sick satisfaction to be had out of watching him squirm, sweat, blush, choke. Satisfaction, but little comfort.

"I really do love you, Ginny–"

"I know you do. You always have, probably always will." I shrugged at this point. Did I really dare to add anything else to my reply? He'd keep coming back, he'd keep leaving; he'd beg, cry, scream, whisper for the rest of my life if I didn't stop it now.

"Which," I inserted a bit sharper than I meant too, "is why we are completely over. No coming back to me. No apologizing for making stupid mistakes."

His eyes widened a bit. " We can still be friends . . . "

I nodded. Of course we can.

But I'll be damned if you ever share my bed again.

* * *

I think Ginny/Harry might be my favorite breakup couple! I identify with both of them in some way - yes, this means I like Harry now! 


End file.
